Together Again
by Karone A. Talien
Summary: One-shot of extended scenes for episode 8: after the dark asher is beaten and after the final scene. I couldn't stop thinking about what happens next! Just a bit of fluff and minor whump to hold me until I can finish a story with a proper plot. :)


**Extended Scene #1 - After Piety's Death**

Philo dropped to his knees, exhaustion written on his face. As Vignette fluttered down to wrap her arms around him, he returned her embrace and seemed to melt into her. They held each other for a long time. "It's over," Philo muttered at last. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath. Then he pulled back so that he could see Vignette. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm okay," she said. "She kept asking me where you were. She started to cut me, but then she stopped. Somehow she knew you were coming."

"She was going to take your liver, to discover your secrets - who I am and where to find me."

"Who is she?"

"She's… Piety Breakspear."

"The Chancellor's wife?" Vignette balked. "Why would she do this?"

"Because he's my father." Before she could ask any more questions, he shook his head and said, "I'll explain later. We should go."

"You're bleeding," she informed him, studying the gash along his hairline. The whole left side of his face was scratched and bloody.

"Head wounds always bleed a lot," he said dismissively. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"You don't even _know_ how it looks," Vignette muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Let's just get out of here," Philo pleaded. "Help me up."

Vignette nodded in agreement, stood, and pulled Philo to his feet. He swayed slightly for a moment, then took a breath and steadied himself. He looked around, then noticed the door Piety had closed to trap him with that beast. "Lever," he instructed the faerie at his side, nodding to the top of the ladder. "Up there." Vignette nodded and flew up, opening the door. Then the pair made their way into the tunnel beyond, retracing Philo's path.

As they walked, Philo gave Vignette a brief summary of what had befallen him after he was taken from the prison - meeting his father, his parents' story, Absolom's promise to have Vignette released from prison, and finally the haruspex's revelation that Piety was behind the dark asher and that Vignette was in danger.

"But how did she find out about me?" the faerie wondered aloud. "You don't think he would have told her, do you?"

He glanced back at her following just a step behind him. "No," he said assuredly, "I don't think so. But maybe he let something slip. He had no idea she knew about me; he might not have guarded his words well enough." He paused as they came to an intersection, recalling the direction from which he had come. They were almost outside now. "Maybe she found out that he was having you released from prison and then… guessed at our connection," he decided with a shrug. "He probably believes that you were freed and that the two of us have already left the city by now."

Finally, they reached the end of the tunnel and stepped outside. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still black. Philo didn't bother to check his watch. No matter what time it was, he knew Tourmaline would be awake and waiting on them. "We need to head to the Tetterby," he told Vignette. "We can get cleaned up and hide out there until morning. Then I can go to the train station, get tickets out of The Burgue. If you'll come with me," he added questioningly, turning to look at Vignette.

She smiled and nodded. "I'll go wherever you go."

* * *

**Extended Scene #2 - After the Final Scene**

"So what now?" Vignette finally voiced the question both she and Philo had been thinking. They stood together in the street, surrounded by an increasing number of fae who were filing into the now-closed Carnival Row. Many of them lived here already, but others had lived and worked in other parts of the city and now found themselves homeless and unemployed and uncertain of what the future held. They stood in small groups, either crying or talking angrily among themselves. All of them were asking the same question Vignette had asked.

Philo shook his head sadly and sighed. Not only was he without a job, but he would have to keep his head down. A number of the faerish folk here respected him or even considered him a friend. He didn't think he would fare too badly living among them, even if his status as a half-blood became known. But not everyone in Carnival Row had been accepting of him these past few years. He was a known Critch sympathizer, but that didn't guarantee his standing here. Some fae distrusted any human who might befriend them out of pity or curiosity. To them, he seemed patronizing at best or two-faced at worst. They wouldn't make life easy for him now. Moreover, the constabulary thought he was dead, executed in the dead of night, and it was only a matter of time before someone told them that he was alive on Carnival Row. Things would get much more complicated then.

Meanwhile, Vignette would need to find a new means of survival. She couldn't go back to being a lady's maid now even if she wanted to. But she couldn't return to the Black Raven either. They had ways of discovering secrets. If she turned their attention back to her now, they would be certain to find out that she was still with Philo, that he was half fae, that the only reason he was not wanted by the police was because they currently thought him dead. No, the Raven would make trouble for her now, more than ever.

Philo whispered, "I have an idea." He took Vignette's hand and pulled her down the street. After a few turns, she wanted to ask him where they were going, but something about the look on his face changed her mind. His entire body seemed tense, his jaw was set, his eyes dark and troubled. If he had an idea of where they could go, some hope for their future, then why did he seem so upset?

Finally, they reached a small tenement house, away from the main streets. It looked like the perfect place, assuming there was a room free. But Vignette couldn't help wondering how Philo had known this place, and what made him seem so certain that they would be able to stay here. There was a centaur woman sweeping in the courtyard, just as she had been the last time Philo had come. "Who do I talk to about renting a flat?" he asked politely.

The woman stopped what she was doing and eyed him suspiciously. It seemed she recognized him and wondered why a human police inspector would want to move here. "Place is owned by a faerie named Eamon," she replied at last. "He'll be in his office down that way." Philo nodded and turned in the direction she had pointed.

Eamon was an aging faerie with graying hair, though being fae, he didn't look that much older than Philo. He greeted the pair kindly but was quick to point out that he had no apartments available at the moment. "What about number 16?" Philo asked. Vignette glanced at him curiously.

"Former tenant was killed," Eamon said matter-of-factly, and suddenly Vignette thought she understood where they were and why. "The police had me lock the place and leave it be. Figured there might still be evidence there, I suppose." He shrugged. "Last I heard, they'd arrested someone for the murder. I figure the case is about to be closed, so I ought to be able to rent it out by now. But I haven't had a chance to clear out her things. Haven't found her next-of-kin yet. Don't suppose I will now."

"So what will you do with her belongings if there's no next-of-kin?" Vignette asked.

"Sell them, I suppose," the landlord replied with another shrug. "I imagine the city would like to claim what's left and auction it off for profit. But now that the Row is closed, I don't suppose they have time to worry about what happens to a dead pix's things," he said with a hint of anger. "Probably not worth that much anyway. Not as much as the empty flat will be worth now that every fae in the city is stuck here."

Vignette nodded. Philo said, "We'll take it as is."

The landlord eyed him skeptically. "Can you pay for everything left in the flat?"

"No." Philo leaned a little closer to the landlord. "But what if I told you that you've found Ms. Querelle's next-of-kin after all?"

Eamon looked confused, studying the man and faerie in front of him. "Who? Her?" he asked, nodding toward Vignette.

Philo should have said yes. It was a logical assumption, and it was probably the safest route. But he was done living a lie. His mother deserved more; _he _deserved more. When he spoke again, his voice was barely more than a whisper, and he met Eamon's eyes without hesitation. "Aisling Querelle was my mother."

"You?" Eamon asked incredulously. He glanced briefly at Vignette, but she offered nothing. The other faerie looked back to Philo, holding his gaze for a long moment. He had said it with such conviction, and there was no sign of deceit in his eyes. "I believe you," Eamon said at last, and Vignette realized that she had been holding her breath. "So you're what? A half-blood?"

Philo looked away this time, hoping to hide the guilt that welled up inside of him. It wasn't that he was ashamed at being a half-blood. Especially after the events of the past few days, he had begun to accept what he was. No, this was the guilt he had voiced seven years ago, when he told Vignette his secret. What would it look like to the fae, he always wondered, that he spent his whole life hiding that part of him? Vignette had told him then that it wasn't his fault, that he hadn't been given a choice. He knew she was right. But he still felt himself flush with shame, especially here in the presence of two faeries.

Eamon took his silence as confirmation. "I see," he muttered, opening a drawer on his desk and rummaging through it as he continued, "well, luckily for you I'm a good judge of character, and you seem a decent sort. And," he added with a glance up at Philo, "I happen to be feeling charitable at the moment." He pulled out a standard tenant's contract and a key, laying both on the desk between them. "I can keep my mouth shut if that's what you want. But I do expect the first month's rent up front. You understand."

Philo nodded and reached into his pocket. There wasn't much money left - they had spent most of it on tickets out of the city, and naturally those hadn't been refunded. But there was enough for this. To Philo, it was worth it just to take his mother's flat and claim what was left of her effects before some stranger did. "I can't pay you for her belongings," he repeated.

Eamon waved his hand dismissively. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said. "It's one thing to take from the Burgish government, especially when it was never rightfully theirs. But I would never claim Aisling's property if she truly has a son to inherit it." He looked at Philo kindy. "She was a good tenant all these years," he offered. "A good _woman_."

"Thank you," the younger man said softly, unsure of what else to say.

"Philo," Vignette whispered, gently grasping his slightly trembling hand and trading the money he held for the apartment key. "I'll take care of it. Why don't you go on up?" He didn't argue. He wanted a moment alone in his mother's flat. But he knew it was more than that. Vignette didn't want his name to go on the contract. If the police ever investigated this place for any reason, it wouldn't do for them to see the name 'Rycroft Philostrate' in the landlord's paperwork. He was dead after all.

* * *

Philo hesitated at the door for longer than he cared to admit. He had been here several times before, but it felt different this time. There was a finality to his arrival now. It was like a bittersweet ending to a tragic love story. Philo had read enough books to know.

The room was relatively undisturbed. One could almost imagine that Aisling had just stepped out for a moment, that she would return at any moment to go about her life. But she was gone, and Philo couldn't help feeling that, in an indirect way, it was his fault. He had grown up as an orphan, but neither of his parents had actually been dead all these years. Until now. And it was because of him that his mother had been killed. He wasn't really to blame, and yet he was responsible. And now to hear of his father's assassination only a day after meeting him...

He closed his eyes, pushing away such thoughts. He took off his gloves, stuffing them in his pockets, then removed his bowler hat and set it on a table to his left. Then he stepped over to the gramophone across the room and flicked the switch. His mother's hauntingly beautiful voice broke the silence around him. He smiled sadly.

When Vignette opened the door, she thought for a moment that the flat was empty. A soft, sweet lullaby was playing on a gramophone near the center of the room. Everything else was silent and still. There was a small table within reach of the door. Philo's hat had been set there beside a flowered teapot. Beyond, to the left, the doors to Aisling's closet were open to reveal a handful of well-worn but beautiful faerish garments.

Then a small movement drew her gaze to a bed in the far right corner of the room. Philo, sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, had shifted his weight slightly. His head was down so that Vignette could not see his face. But as he looked up at her, she caught him brushing a tear from his cheek.

"Oh, Philo," she breathed, moving to sit at his side and put an arm around him. Across the room, the song ended and the gramophone clicked off. Philo glanced up at it, then leaned against the faerie, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. She reached up and stroked his hair gently.

"I don't know if I can do this," he whispered. "I thought I was strong enough, but…" His voice trailed off.

"Your mother loved you," Vignette reminded him. "She would have wanted you to be here. She would have done anything she could to help you." His head moved against her neck in a nod. He did not pull away from her. It was as if he craved her touch; she remembered that he'd always been this way, even back in Tirnanoc. Philo had spent so much of his life alone, deprived of true affection. Her touch made him feel loved and safe, and she knew he needed that now more than ever. So they sat together for a long time.

Finally, he lifted his head to look around him. He stood gingerly and went to carefully return the gramophone cylinder to its case. Vignette stood as well and moved about the room, studying the various objects on tables and shelves and the embroidered cloaks that hung beside the door. Philo saw her gazing sadly at the framed keepsake on the wall with tiny hand prints and lovingly drawn faerie wings. Neither of them said anything about it though.

Philo was holding an antique-looking teacup from the mismatched set laid out on the table. "No point getting too attached to any of this," he said quietly. "We'll likely have to sell some of it to get by if we're here for long." He gently replaced the cup on its saucer. He was trying hard not to picture his mother sitting alone at the table drinking from that very cup. He and Vignette needed to be practical - they had no need for such fine dishes. The truth was that the whole room was scattered with mementos that must have meant something to Aisling but whose significance died with her.

"And what about after we've sold everything with which we can bear to part?" Vignette wondered aloud. "What are we going to do when the money runs out?"

"I guess we'll have to see how long our internment here lasts," Philo said. He hated the uncertainty of the situation. "I don't know what kind of work we can find here, but the government may allow some to leave for work in the factories and such. They'd hate to lose _all _of their cheap labor at once, no matter how much they complain about the fae putting the humans out of work."

"There are some jobs humans would rather not do, even for more pay," Vignette speculated. Philo nodded. "Well in any case," the faerie continued, feigning interest in the gowns in Aisling's closet, "you are _not _leaving the Row even if we need the work."

Philo reached out and grasped her arm, turning her to face him. He didn't bother to voice the protest that was evident upon his face.

"Someone will recognize you, Philo!" Vignette insisted. "You said they think you're dead. We need to keep it that way or they'll execute you for real this time."

"I'm more likely to be recognized _here_," Philo argued, "and I think you know that. I've spent more time in Carnival Row than anywhere else these last few years."

Vignette sighed and pulled back so that his hand fell away from her arm. She took it in her own and squeezed gently. "I'm sorry. I just… I wish you would lay low for a while."

"I can lay low. It's all I've ever done, really. But I don't want to sit in this flat doing nothing all day for who knows how long." Vignette sighed and nodded in a way that said she understood. They would have to deal with the issue eventually, but it could wait for the moment. Philo reached up with his free hand and touched her cheek lovingly. "I missed this," he said with a smile.

"Missed what?"

"You," he stammered, "being… well, concerned for my welfare. It seems we've come a long way from you showing up in my room with a knife to my throat."

Vignette laughed, a twinkle in her eyes. Oh! How he had missed that! He couldn't help but grin back at her as she noted, "That's how our story always starts, isn't it?" She continued in a more serious tone, "It doesn't change the way you left me or what I went through for those seven years. But I know now… I never stopped loving you, Rycroft Philostrate." She planted a kiss on his cheek and then brushed her hand gently through his hair. "And I see now that even if you weren't in mortal danger all this time, as I was… you were just as broken and alone. In this city full of people, I can't imagine anyone so lonely as you."

He closed his eyes. Every word she said was true. He'd been so isolated, so desperate to connect with someone who could understand and accept him the way Vignette had before. He had hoped against his better judgement that Portia Fyfe might fill that emptiness inside him. But even after a year of getting to know her, of reaching a certain familiarity, he had never really expected her to accept him as he truly was. He had only told her his secret in a moment of weakness, overwhelmed by his emotions in a way he had not anticipated. He had known deep down that Portia was not ready to help him bear the weight he carried, no matter how much she tried to tell him otherwise. They had served to comfort each other in the still hours of the night, but they could never have done more than that.

No, Philo had always felt that what he had with Vignette was special, that he would never chance upon such love, acceptance, and support from anyone else for the rest of his life. He could not begin to express his gratitude that she was giving him a second chance now. Finally, he whispered, "I _was _alone. I spent all those years just wishing I could go back… to what we had in Tirnanoc. I struggled to find a purpose here. All I could do was try to make sure that the fae here found justice the same as everyone else. I thought I was doing it for myself… because of my heritage. But I did it for you. Vignette, I never stopped loving you."

She gave him a small smile. "I know," she said. "That's why I need you to promise me something, Philo."

"Anything." He leaned close to her, lifted his hand to caress her braided hair with his fingertips.

"Don't try to protect me this time," she begged. "Whatever lies ahead, promise me we'll face it _together_."

"Together," he agreed. His hand shifted to grasp at the back of her head, pulling her closer until their lips nearly touched. He let her close the space between them herself. She pressed her mouth against his eagerly.

Philo's coat dropped heavily to the floor, followed by Vingette's. The two leaned into each other, kissing passionately. But then, tugging at the buttons on his vest, she bumped his side. Philo couldn't stop himself from hissing in pain. Vignette stopped instantly, taking a small step back. "You're hurt," she declared.

Philo rolled his eyes as he finished with the buttons himself and shrugged off the vest. "Of course I'm hurt," he said as if this was perfectly routine for him. "I've been beaten a couple of times in the past few days. But it's nothing serious."

The faerie glared at him. "This morning, I let you stitch me up where she cut me. Once we cleaned up the blood on your face, you insisted you were fine." She pushed him over to the bed. She ordered, "Sit," and he obeyed.

"I _am_ fine," he maintained. "It's just bruising."

"Let me take a look," Vignette requested, helping him pull off his shirt. The action drew another groan of pain. She let out a gasp of her own when she saw his torso mottled with black and blue. "Oh, Philo…"

He shook his head. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"That's what you said about the head wound," she retorted, gently probing his ribs.

Philo winced. "I'm telling you, it's just bruises," he said. But then she hit a tender spot, and he cried out in pain. "Maybe a few cracked ribs," he admitted. "Nothing to be done for it."

"There are herbs that can help with the pain and bruising."

"We can't waste money on that," he argued. "I'll be alright."

Vignette sighed. He was so stubborn! "Well, I can at least wrap it. Have you seen any bandages around here?" Philo shook his head, and she got up to start looking through some cupboards. He started to move to help, but she pointed at him and commanded, "Sit!" So with a huff, he settled himself on the bed.

After a few minutes, the faerie found what she was looking for. Philo was still sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. Vignette knelt beside him on the bed, dropping some basic medical supplies at her side. There was a mostly-full jar of healing salve, and she started by gently applying it to some of the cuts on his face. He said nothing, instead using the moment to take in her beauty, her sweet scent, the glorious closeness between them now. Vignette caught his eye and saw the enamored look. "What?" she asked, blushing slightly. Philo only smiled a little and shook his head dismissively.

Next, Vignette smeared some salve on the worst of the bruises. Philo was careful not to make a sound, but she still heard his breathing hitch from time to time as she touched the more damaged ribs. "Sorry," she whispered. She picked up a roll of gauze and wrapped it tightly around his torso.

"That feels better," he admitted when she was finished. "Thank you."

She sat beside him on the edge of the bed once more and took his left hand in hers, examining the gash across the back of it. "How did this happen?" she asked, recognizing it as an older wound.

"Broken bottle," he told her. "Caught up with a murderer in a pub a while back."

"Well," she said, reopening the jar of salve to smooth some across the injury, "you really ought to have had this looked at." She was certain that it should have gotten stitches.

"I couldn't go to a doctor," he reminded her.

"I know, I know," she muttered. "But surely they could have stitched your hand without learning you're half fae."

He shrugged. It wasn't the kind of risk he was willing to take. "It'll heal," he said. "Just another scar." He took the gauze from her and expertly wrapped a clean piece around his hand.

"More of them than I remember," Vignette noted, tracing her fingers along a small scar on his shoulder, one that he must have received since returning to The Burgue. Her hand moved to his back. "All starting with these two." She touched the scars from when he'd been shorn. Philo closed his eyes, allowing the pressure of her hand to comfort him, to ease the tension that always seemed to come from where his wings should be.

"They wouldn't have worked anyway," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he said it.

"What do you mean?" Vignette asked, moving in front of him again to look him in the eye.

"Because I'm half-blood," he explained. "Just before I was arrested, I met a faun who was there at my birth, a maid for my mother's human benefactor. I was hoping she would know my father's identity. She couldn't help with that, but she talked about the baby… about me. She said they were 'sad little wings.' She didn't think I'd have been able to fly."

Vignette shook her head. "What would a faun know of that anyway?" she said dismissively. "Faerie wings always look too small when we're born. They grow and get stronger as we get older."

Philo continued, "She wondered if I'd lived at all. She said half-bloods don't always make it, at least not for long."

Vignette sighed and stroked his hair as she took in everything he was telling her. "I have to admit I don't know much about that," she said. "But if she was right… I'm just glad you did survive… to be here with me now."

He smiled and took her hand, kissing it. "So am I," he whispered.

Vignette stood, cupping his face in her hands and pressing her lips gently to his forehead. Then she straightened and said. "I'm going to fetch some water. There was a pump in the courtyard." Before he could move to come with her, she ordered, "You get some rest." He opened his mouth to protest, but she headed him off. "When did you last sleep?" He shook his head to indicate that he couldn't exactly recall. She moved to pick up a bucket beside the door, and he didn't try to follow. "I'll be right back."

It was only a few minutes before she returned. When she did, he was asleep on the bed. With a smile, she pulled up a quilt, which was draped over the foot of the bed, as she curled up beside him. The future was uncertain, and life wasn't going to be easy. But for now, Philo and Vignette found themselves happy just to be together again.


End file.
